


Plaisir Sucré

by fyreyantics



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Facials, Feeding, Finger Sucking, Food Kink, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyreyantics/pseuds/fyreyantics
Summary: On a trip to Paris, Quentin takes Peter to a French bakery and tea room - just as much for his gratification as Peter's.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 9
Kudos: 93





	Plaisir Sucré

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecrookedneighbor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrookedneighbor/gifts).



> I'm so sorry this is so late. It really needed the extra work (and I have a terrible attention span). I hope you'll decide it was worth the wait. ;^^
> 
> General notes: Plaisir sucré in French translates to 'sweet pleasure'. It is also the name of a dessert created by Pierre Hermé. There are variations of it sold but I'm going by the original in this which looks like [this](https://images.app.goo.gl/3xMZm3ELMYLp3FuB8).

Quentin entered first, a light jingling of a bell sounding upon the opening of the door. He moved to let Peter past him before closing it behind them but Peter made it only a few steps before stopping stock still.

The tea room was lavish. Quentin wouldn’t have taken Peter to anything less. That was partly the point of whisking him away for a trip to Paris; to spoil him, to impress him, to make him feel beholden, and to make him feel like Quentin was someone he could trust to provide for him.

But Peter had shrunk in on himself. He no doubt found the interior intimidating - the luxurious mahogany paneling, the deep burgundy wallpaper and contrasting muted gold accents. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling though tall windows let in enough natural light for it not to feel dark.

All in all, it gave the impression of a late nineteenth century drawing room. Nothing about it was foreign to Quentin. Peter, on the hand, was almost leaning away from it.

"You didn't tell me it was...you know, like this," Peter murmured, pressing up against Quentin's side.

"You wouldn't have come otherwise," Quentin replied quietly. "Come on."

He beckoned Peter to follow him. A long series of display cases stood along the side of the room. The pair walked along, Peter trailing behind. Despite his discomfort, Peter peeked at the contents with keen interest.

An immense variety of different colours and flavours of macarons filled the first few, all in neat boxes. Beyond them were the actual pastries, cakes and tarts placed in exact rows. Pinks, yellows, reds, blues - each designed to catch the eye. There were beautiful intricate works, delicate and perfectly constructed - testaments to the skill of the patissier - and there were simple yet no less elegant pastries to the side.

Quentin was naturally drawn towards a particular éclair - topped with milk chocolate with a chantilly cream filling. He could picture Peter biting into it - cream pushing out of the collapsed pastry, smearing over his upper lip and messily covering his chin. Peter would look surprised by the quantity, smile apologetically and clean it up with his fingers, sucking them and sheepishly making eye contact as he slipped a finger out of his mouth.

Quentin took a steadying breath. He wet his lips and turned to Peter, who was still leaning over to examine all the different options.

"Any appeal to you?” Quentin asked.

Peter frowned lightly, giving careful consideration to his options. "I kind of like the look of that one," he replied, pointing at a tall rectangular layered slice.

"Plaisir sucre," Quentin supplied, reading the small label in front.

"Plaisir sucre?" Peter repeated in a poor French accent. Quentin nodded.

The dessert in question was a creation of Pierre Herme, presented in a rectangular shape and consisting of multiple layers. A dacquoise biscuit base topped with hazelnut praline beneath layers of chocolate ganache, chocolate chantilly cream, and finished with a wafer-thin piece of chocolate.

Quentin knew he would enjoy it.

"What else?"

Peter continued to frown. "Hmm...The lemon meringue.” He nodded to himself decidedly, and turned his gaze to Quentin. “I like lemon meringue."

“Good. I’ll go order.” Quentin rested his hand briefly on Peter’s lower back. “Find us a table.”

“Okay.” Peter uneasily looked back over the room but left Quentin’s side.

Quentin went on to order the desserts in flawless French, as well as a coffee for himself.

After paying, Quentin turned and searched for Peter’s whereabouts. He found Peter nearby with his hands on his lap and peering around the room cautiously.

Quentin took a seat opposite. He raised his eyebrows, amused.

“You can relax, you know.”

“Yeah.” Peter replied, still looking on edge. Sighing, he turned his attention solely to Quentin. “I don’t know, I guess I’m not used to it. Is it annoying? Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Peter.” He gave Peter a gentle smile. “I forget how this must seem to you. But you know, I only want to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

Quentin raised his eyebrows suggestively, and briefly looked Peter over. The faint beginnings of a blush appeared on Peter’s face but Quentin wasn’t given long to savour it. A waitress placed the two desserts on their table - the lemon meringue and plaisir sucre centred on individual stark-white plates. The plaisir sucre was put closer to Quentin, no doubt under the assumption that he’d ordered a dessert for each of them respectively.

Peter decided to go with what was nearest - the lemon meringue. He picked up the small fork and Quentin watched with avid interest as Peter inched the prongs down through the soft fluffy meringue and down further into the dense lemon-yellow filling before passing through the pastry base. Lifting it to his mouth, Quentin honed in on how Peter slipped it inside, lips pursing over the metal prongs, before sliding the fork between them on its way back out. Peter's gaze wandered over Quentin's shoulder as he chewed, then snapped back to look straight at him. His eyes grew wide. He made emphatic eye contact with Quentin, his posture lifting. He then sat humming in appreciation.

"Good?" Quentin asked, quirking a grin.

Peter nodded enthusiastically and took another bite, practically thrumming with delight. He smiled sweetly.

"It's really good. Are you sure you don't want to try any?"

Quentin shook his head and gave an easy smile as he leaned back further in his chair. "I don’t really like sweet food.”

Peter appeared genuinely sad for a moment, then continued eating.

He kept taking bites with a thoughtful expression on his face. Absentmindedly Peter started slipping the fork out slowly between his lips. Quentin smoothed his hand over his own thigh, soothing himself as his pants grew tight, cock hardening at the sight of Peter innocently leaving a fleck of meringue on his lower lip. Quentin could imagine something else there, and as he watched as Peter brushed it up with his finger, taking it to his mouth and cleaning it, he could imagine Peter cleaning himself of something else, happily not wasting a single drop.

Quentin resisted the urge to palm himself under the table, but only just.

His cup of coffee arriving was a welcome distraction.

“So where are we going after this?” Peter asked with interest. The tart had taken away his nervousness completely.

They talked inanely about potential destinations - there was a science museum reasonably nearby that Peter wanted to go see. Peter still wanted to go see the Eiffel Tower, to Quentin’s dismay; he’d never found it particularly exciting or enjoyable. He’d much rather take Peter to Saint Chapelle with the high gothic arches and thousands of stained glass windows, watching his amazement as the sunlight played shadows and colours across his face. Peter agreed to it, but with the air of someone who thought not doing so would be rude.

Once Peter had finished and had his sights on the second plate, Quentin decided to pull it closer towards him and out of Peter's reach.

"Hey!" Peter protested as Quentin dug his fork into the rectangular dessert, taking note of the small crack as a paper-thin layer of chocolate broke.

"I thought you said you didn't want any,” Peter said petulantly.

Quentin ignored him and continued sinking the small fork through a layer of sweet dark brown chantilly cream, then a chocolate ganache, then meeting the barest moment of resistance with the hazelnut praline and to the buttery biscuit base.

"I don't," he remarked and lifted it onto his fork, offering it to Peter.

It took Peter a moment.

"Come on, man," Peter whispered, his eyes checking the surroundings. “I’m not going to...it’s embarrassing.”

Quentin shot him a charming grin. "Humour me."

Peter turned his head, eyeing the rest of the tea room. There weren't many people near them, but realistically a customer could still peer over, or walk past them. Peter swallowed thickly and anticipation grew inside Quentin as Peter drew his head forward. Peter opened his mouth and Quentin avidly watched the dessert disappear inside before Peter’s lips closed around the fork.

Instantaneously Peter’s discomfort disappeared. His eyes widened as they had earlier, a myriad of emotions running over Peter's face as Quentin pulled back the fork before settling on one of pure awe.

"Oh my god," Peter exclaimed in breathless wonder, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as he ate.

"Good?" Quentin asked, a smile slowly inching onto his face.

Peter's eyes came alive with enthusiasm. "So good, wow."

Quentin made another slice with his fork. "More?"

With less self-consciousness than before, Peter took it gladly from Quentin and moaned - a genuine sex-worthy moan, sending a jolt of arousal straight to Quentin’s cock. He shifted in his seat surreptitiously, trying to alleviate the discomfort as his cock throbbed, confined to his slacks. In spite of this, Quentin supplied more, a sense of power surging in his chest as Peter leaned even further forward to reach it.

Peter's eyes were half lidded as he chewed. He licked and sucked his bottom lip - making his soft, light pink lips wet. He was gorgeous and unknowingly desirable, a portrait of innocence in the midst of sensuality, and Quentin actively cherished the moments he had, despite the increasing tightness of his slacks.

In fact, it was almost too much.

Peter started talking, but Quentin could barely listen, concentrating purely on Peter’s mouth and lips; his entire unawareness of how entrancing each small movement was, each small sound and the soft way his eyelids would close for a moment, Quentin feeding on his enjoyment and feeling it grow into something sensual and sinful - something to be held back lest it rear up and ruin this theatre of innocent indulgence.

He surrendered the fork. Laying it down on the plate, he offered it to Peter who took it without further ado.

Quentin excused himself and rose to his feet, slipping his hands into his pockets and making his way to the bathroom. He couldn't spend time admiring the fancy interior and simply pushed his way into a stall, locking the door and undoing his belt all at once. He hissed as he pulled his cock out. He could feel it throb in his hand, hot against his palm, and the head already slick with precome.

Taking a shaky breath, Quentin took himself in hand. Using his precome to ease the way, he stroked and squeezed down on his cock, at first taking it slow; trying to garner a semblance of control. But soon the images of Peter flooded his brain and he had to bite down on his lip to stop the groans from sounding out in the bathroom. Peter's cherry blossom-hued lips, his tongue flicking up for the soft white meringue, the way he sucked his bottom lip, the sight of the fork disappearing into his wet pink mouth, the smooth action as it pulled back out -

The sensuous images filed through Quentin's mind, one after the other, and he could feel himself tense. The heat in the pit of his stomach grew exponentially until it couldn’t anymore; until he had to have release. He clenched his teeth and white spilled from his cock, coating his fingers. He held back grunts and half-growls, pumping away at his cock as spurts continued.

Every muscle he’d tensed released. He spread one palm against the wall to level himself. Catching his breath, he caught sight of his dirtied hand.

"What a waste," he mumbled to himself before quickly cleaning himself up. He adjusted his appearance in the mirror, took a deep breath, and left the bathroom to re-enter the tea room.

Quentin spied Peter, who was finishing up the last on the dessert. He grinned around the fork and waved, entirely none-the-wiser.

Quentin once again sank down into his chair. He felt lighter but not quite satisfied. He’d need something more than night.

Before leaving Quentin made the sudden decision to buy another plaisir sucre - as much for him as for Peter.

***

After dropping the plaisir sucre back at their hotel suite, they then spent the rest of the day exploring tourist locations. It was exhausting pretending to be intrigued by whatever piqued Peter’s interest - his enthusiastic nature was both his best and worst trait.

They arrived late back at their hotel. Quentin decided to take a shower, a little disappointed when Peter didn't appear interested in joining him.

Afterwards, Quentin walked back to their bedroom and was surprised to find Peter absent. He frowned and took a stroll through the rest of the suite.

Rounding the corner Quentin caught sight of Peter at the kitchen counter eating the plaisir sucré.

"Really, Peter?" Quentin asked as he wandered over, feeling a spark of annoyance. He didn’t buy it for Peter to eat in secret.

"It's really good," Peter said defensively. He wet his lips, cleaning up the chocolate.

Quentin came close, narrowing his eyes.

"You know, I think I’ve changed my mind,” he said slowly, “maybe I will try it after all."

Quentin grinned before leaning in and kissing Peter, tasting the sweet chocolate and nutty flavours greedily. He grabbed the back of Peter’s head and deepened the kiss, truly seeking the tastes Peter was enjoying without him, laying claim to them. Peter opened further for Quentin to delve inside; their tongues dancing together before Peter moaned. His hands grabbed at Quentin’s shirt, clinging desperately.

Quentin pulled away. He dragged his teeth lightly along Peter’s bottom lip as he did so, earning him a small gasp.

“W-was it good?” Peter stammered, looking up at Quentin with half-lidded eyes.

The corners of Quentin’s lips twitched. “It was.”

He flicked his gaze to the plaisir sucre. Delicately he lifted the wafer-thin chocolate on top, eyeing it curiously, and put it to the side. Quentin dipped a finger into the chocolatey cream, swiping up a dollop and turned, offering it to Peter. Without instruction Peter took it into his mouth. Velvety soft lips pursed around Quentin’s finger and Peter’s cheeks hollowed for a moment as he sucked off the cool cream. His tongue swirled and the heat of Peter’s mouth warmed away the coolness. Peter sucked again and swallowed; continuing even after the cream was gone. He took hold of Quentin's hand in both of his own; his eyelashes daintily fluttering against his cheeks as soft brown eyes looked up innocently at Quentin.

It sparked something within Quentin and he pushed his finger in further, feeling the soft wet warmth inside as he trailed along Peter’s tongue. Peter's eyes widened in surprise before his eyelids fell half-shut. He moaned. Quentin pulled back and added another finger. He pushed them both in, bit by bit, until he reached near the back of Peter’s tongue. Standing still, Quentin watched keenly, feeling Peter’s throat spasm around his fingers and seeing the spark of desperation in Peter’s expression and the eyebrows arching as Peter tried not to fight the intrusion.

Quentin smirked and removed his fingers, wiping them on his pants.

"Knees," Quentin calmly ordered.

Peter dropped readily. He nimbly undid Quentin's belt, unzipping his pants. Quentin could see the hunger in his eyes when he pulled out Quentin's thick cock from its confines. He wet his lips - those soft, pink lips - before gripping near the base of the shaft. Quentin wasn't quite hard yet but Peter taking him in his warm wet mouth and looking up at him so innocently, lips stretched around his cock was quickly getting him there. Peter sucked hard, just like Quentin had taught him, grasping Quentin's cock and bobbing up and down the first few inches.

"That's it," Quentin murmured, carding his fingers through Peter's soft hair.

Peter's eyelids fluttered and he hummed happily at the sensation.

Guiding Peter further along his length, Quentin groaned at the feeling of his cock being enveloped further in the delicious heat. He needed all of it. He needed to see Peter take it.

"Take away your hand."

Peter obeyed, a flicker of doubt passing over his face. Quentin pushed Peter down further and further until the head of his cock nudged at the back of his throat. He closed his eyes for a second, relishing the sensation. It felt magnificent, and looking down to see Peter struggle only made it all the more enjoyable.

"Breathe through your nose, sweetheart," Quentin told him. Peter tried - Quentin could hear it - but Quentin didn't make it easy for him. He pulled Peter forward until Quentin was fully sheathed, Peter's nose resting against Quentin's skin. Peter’s eyes watered and he tried to pull away, making wet choked sounds, but Quentin held him there. Peter's throat fluttered around the head of his cock, forcing him to bite back a moan.

“You’re doing so well,” Quentin praised as Peter choked.

Quentin let Peter go and he slid off Quentin's cock with a gasp, strings of saliva hanging between his red swollen lips and Quentin’s cock. They broke as Peter coughed.

"Good boy. You're getting so good at that."

Peter smiled briefly before opening his mouth once more. Quentin slapped his cock against Peter's stretched forward tongue and smoothly slid his way inside. Gently he rocked his hips back and forth, gently fucking into Peter's mouth. Peter sat, passively allowing Quentin to use him. His movements became erratic at the thought - beautiful Peter letting him do this, feeling obliged to, knowing that he was only here because of Quentin, knowing Quentin was the reason he didn’t have to worry about clothes, tuition fees, rent or his Aunt’s mortgage; not daring to defy or refuse him, especially since Quentin was otherwise so kind to him.

He was thrusting maybe a little too hard, chasing his orgasm, and Peter was so close to crying, those eyes of his wet and pleading.

Quentin started to tense, and he drew back suddenly, surprising Peter. Understanding smoothed over his expression as Quentin took his cock in hand, stroking it near Peter’s face. Peter lifted his head slightly for Quentin. It didn’t take long before Quentin groaned aloud, his come spilling over and shooting thick white ropes, covering Peter's face and coating his lips, and dripping down onto his chin.

Peter stayed still, even after the last of it, giving Quentin a moment to admire his handiwork while he caught his breath.

Peter still appeared boyish and angelic. He’d always imagined Peter would look filthy and defiled but he continuously evaded that result. More than anything he just looked cute covered in come. Peter suited it, like his face was meant to be painted over and dripping.

Licking his lips clean, Peter rose from the floor.

"Let's go clean you up," Quentin said gently.

"Okay," was Peter's simple response, his tone unreadable.

They washed up in the bathroom and came back to the bed, Quentin being extra affectionate after what they'd done. They both undressed and climbed into their large comfy bed. Peter sighed, relaxing into the mattress and curling up at Quentin's side. Brown eyes looked up at Quentin then closed as Peter eased himself to sleep. Quentin let a small smile form across his face and turned off the light, a blissful weightlessness in his chest as closed his eyes and followed Peter to rest.


End file.
